Guarisci Presto, Spagna
by Hipster Canada
Summary: I hated seeing Spain like this. Dammit, he wasn't supposed to be hurt. How can I hate him when he looks so beat up like this? The sight of Spain lying in bed so injured tugged at something in my heart, and I found myself wishing I could do something to make him feel better. And I found myself being stupid enough to ask him.


_**A/N: I'm not quite sure where this oneshot came from. I just really wanted to write something with an injured Spain and a kind of sympathetic Romano.**_  
_**I just want to let you know, I have a lot of headcanons, and I write based on those headcanons. This one in particular is based on one hc I have, in which Romano, of course, lived with Spain when he was little, but as he grew up Spain slowly grew on him and he eventually fell in love. This story is written at that point where Romano is starting to care a lot about Spain, but he doesn't know he loves him yet. **_  
_**I tend see all the hidden and subliminal messages and themes and sexual tension in stuff, even if it isn't really there. Especially Spamano, because that's my OTP. The title of this oneshot means "Get Well Soon, Spain" in Italian.**_  
_**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.**_  
_**-Hipster Canada**_

* * *

The sea-weary pirates swept into the house and disrupted the almost eerie calm that had settled over the house since their departure. The uneven thump of boots on the wood floor; the rustling of fabrics that have been stiffened by salt-spray; the coughs, heavy breaths and light chatter of the men finally back on land after months on a ship. I looked up as they filed through the door, clutching my broom handle tighter. One of the men was being helped inside, supported between two others. A familiar mop of brown curls stuck out from beneath his red bandana and made him easily identifiable. At least to me, and probably to most of the men who sailed on his ship and under his colors.

He was Spain: he was Captain; he was Boss.

He was more, especially to me, even though I would never admit it.

The men took their Captain upstairs. When they had disappeared out of sight, I realized just how tightly I was gripping my broom handle. I relaxed my grip and quickly swept the small pile of dust under the rug. I hurried up the stairs on quiet feet. The two men who had helped their captain upstairs took no notice of me as they passed on their way back downstairs. My eyes found the door at the end of the hallway, and my feet took me toward it without any conscious command from me. The door looked closed until I came closer. Then I could see it was cracked slightly.

I bit my lip, my brows furrowed, as I peeked through the barely ajar door into Spain's room. I'll admit, I was more than a little curious. He'd been gone for months and... and maybe I missed him, dammit. But only a little. Or that's what I told myself. And I've never been very good at being honest with myself.

The room was dark, and I could just barely make out Spain's still form under the covers of his bed. I jumped, startled, when I heard a hacking cough and saw Spain's body wrack with it. I stepped back quickly, backing up until I hit something solid. I was expecting the wall, but it wasn't. It was Juan – Spain's loyal first mate. He looked old and tired... the same way that Spain always looked when he got home from a particularly long trip. He swept off his hat and nodded at me, a worried look on his face. "Hola, little Italiano. Have you seen Boss?"

I shook my head, my face still scrunched in a frown. "No. He's sleeping."

"Ay, that is good. He needs his rest. Inglaterra brings out the worst in Boss... and this time he got the better of him, too."

"What does that mean?" I asked before I could tell myself to shut up.

Juan opened his mouth to respond, but a weak, hoarse voice from inside the dark room interrupted him. "Quién está ahí? Hernandez?"

"Sí, Capitán," Juan said, patting my head slightly as he pushed the door open and entered the room. The first mate strode right up to the bedside while I trailed in behind, clutching the doorway with both hands, my eyes glued to the dark silhouette of Spain. Juan spoke in quiet, rapid Spanish for a moment, before Spain replied weakly. I frowned and edged a little closer.

"Descanso, Capitán Carriedo." Juan spoke these last words with firm nod, then turned and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. I was startled again, and I stood for a long moment, just staring at the door, telling myself I should be on the other side of it. But I was too curious, and I waited too long.

"Romano?"

The weak question, followed by a cough, caught my attention and spun me around, my eyes wide with some sort of unidentified emotion. Probably surprise, maybe fear. Definitely curiosity. It was a long moment before I managed to stutter out a reply. "Y-yeah, it's me."

"Did you n-" Spain broke off with a violent fit of coughing. Somewhere in the middle of it, I found myself drawing closer to his bedside. "Need something?" he finished once he regained control of his lungs.

"N-no. I just... You left me here alone for a long time, bastard."

"I am sorry, Roma. You know Boss sometimes goes away for long bouts of time." Through the dim, I caught sight of those brilliant green eyes fixed on me. He stretched out a hand toward me. It lay on the coverlet, scraped and bandaged and slightly bloody. "I'm back now."

I folded my arms across my chest, giving him my best glare. "What happened to you, bastard? You look terrible."

Spain chuckled weakly, but it turned into a cough. "Ay. That cabrón Inglaterra caught us off guard. Pero, trust me, Roma. I got him just as badly as he got me."

By this time, I was right up at the edge of Spain's bed. The lower half of his body was covered by the blankets, but I could still see enough to tell he was pretty bad off. His chest was wrapped in bandages, the white stained to crimson in several places. His arms were scraped and sprinkled with shallow cuts and bruises. His favorite red bandana was still wrapped around his head, but it was muddy and scorched, and there was a bruise streaked with blood running from his eyebrow across his nose and along the opposite cheek. If Spain was really telling the truth, I could only imagine what England looked like right now.

I hated seeing Spain like this. Dammit, he wasn't supposed to be hurt. How can I hate him when he looks so beat up like this? The sight of Spain lying in bed so injured tugged at something in my heart, and I found myself wishing I could do something to make him feel better. And I found myself being stupid enough to ask him. "Can I get you anything?"

Spain shook his head, his eyes sliding shut. He looked completely exhausted. "No, Roma. I don't need anything."

I looked down, staring at the pattern in the blanket that hung over the edge of the mattress with complete fascination. "I... I missed you. Bastard," I tacked on as an afterthought. He can't think I went too soft while he was gone. His lips twitch into a smile, even though his eyes stay shut.

"I missed you too, Roma."

I stand there a few more moments, not really wanting to leave, but unsure what else to do. When I finally look up, I see one bright green eye is cracked open and is staring at me. "Why are you staring at me, bastard?"

"Are you worried about Boss, Romano?"

"No! Well, kind of. A little bit, okay? This... This isn't like you."

A few more moments of silence. I'm starting to get uncomfortable. "Go to sleep already, idiot."

A faint look of amusement crossed Spain's tired, handsome face. "Whatever you say, Roma." I watched as Spain carefully rolled over and closed his eyes, leaving a very obvious vacant space on one side of his bed. I swallowed hard as I heard Spain murmur "I'm tired of sleeping in a cold, empty bed all alone." I know the words were directed at me, even if he was practically asleep already.

"But you're hurt." The words came out before I could stop them. I froze, wondering how that sounded to him. Did it sound like I want to sleep in his bed? Or did it sound like I thought his request was dumb because he's injured? I really hoped it was the second one.

"I missed you, Roma," Spain said in a soft, husky whisper.

A blush burned on my cheeks, but even if he had been looking, I doubted Spain could have see it in the dim light. I looked down at the empty space in the bed again. I could hear Spain's breathing evening out. I was pretty sure he was asleep. I could have left then and forgotten he'd ever asked.

I hesitated only a second before crawling into bed beside Spain. The space between us was quiet, but I could hear him breathing deeply. It was comforting. I really had missed it while he was gone. Not that I would have ever told him that. And he said missed me, too.

I cautiously allowed myself to snuggle in closer against his chest. It felt warm and familiar and comfortable. Even though I had been sure he was asleep, it barely surprised me when I heard him whisper "Buenas noches, mi corazón."

"Buona notte, Spagna," I whispered back. "Guarisci presto."

"With you here, I already am, mi querido Lovino."

* * *

_Translations:_

_Quién está ahí? - Who is there_

_Descanso, Capitán Carriedo. - Rest, Captain Carriedo_

_Cabrón - asshole_

_Buenas noches, mi corazón - Good night, my heart_

_Buona notte, Spagna. Guarisci presto. - Good night Spain. Get well soon._

_Mi querido - my love_


End file.
